


The anthem of a bird with a broken 'Wing

by Syngaly



Series: Tidbits [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Blood, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson will be a good bro, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason is a Dork, Jason is a good brother and such a mom, No bashing characters in this house, Rated T for Trashmouth, and a very dramatic child, canon? i don't know her, dealing with the aftermath of child abuse, except maybe for joker, we love all these dumbasses equally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-24 19:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21343408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syngaly/pseuds/Syngaly
Summary: With Bruce and Alfred both gone for a weekend, Dick Grayson was supposed to be the one babysitting him.Jason swallowed back some puke at the very thought. To think he could have spent his weekend with Wonder Woman instead.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Tidbits [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541653
Comments: 98
Kudos: 761





	1. In which everything is going well, Bruce, I swear. No, really. It's all good. Aaaall good.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Batman or any recognizable, or related, characters, settings, or plot device. This all belongs to DC comics, no copyright intended. I'm just playing in this sandbox, having a little fun with characters I love dearly. I make no profit from this, or from any other fanwork.
> 
> Title from "anthem of a bird with a broken wing" by owl city. Which I don't own either, just to be perfectly clear.

It felt like the most fitting way to end an already lousy day when Jason walked up to Manor’s front door and realized that his keys were not anywhere on his person. 

While this normally wouldn’t even make it in his top 300 of Awful Shit that had happened to him in his eleven years of life, there were still a few reasons why it made him want to punch something out of pure frustration. 

The first being that they were well into the coldest days of the year, as the half-frozen clumps of snow splattered all over the grounds could attest to. He was not looking forward to being stuck outside for any longer than was necessary.

The second being that Bruce and Alfred were away together on a business trip for the next few days. _Again._ And not even one of the fun, Batman kind that Jason would soon be allowed to help them with. No. It was the bland, boring kind you apparently couldn’t take your adopted street-rat on. 

It sucked. Not just because it meant no one was nearby to open the door. 

Mainly because Bruce had to ask Richard-holier-than-thou-Grayson to babysit. 

(Jason wasn’t allowed to swear anymore and _Reechurd_ conveyed the pompousness of the prick much more accurately anyway.)

And instead of doing something sensible, like refusing, Richard had nodded, a complicated but displeased expression on his face, and said-

“Sure. I’m needed at work on Friday, though. Do you think you’ll be alright staying home alone for a bit? I should be able to get there by midnight.”

Which really just meant: ‘I don’t give a single fuck about whatever stupid shit you want to do before midnight. Break your damn neck for all I care. But I better not see or have to deal with any evidence of it when I get there, _or else_...’. He was familiar enough with the whole thing.

It was also stupid and sorta smothering. Jason had been taking care of himself and some others for months on the streets, he wasn’t incapable of surviving a few days in a ginormous, well-stocked, heated mansion. The worst that could happen to him was probably something like getting lost and accidentally finding the place’s dungeons. Provided he had a bottle of water on him at the time, Bruce could come back and find him long before anything bad happened.

Bruce had been thoroughly unmoved by the argument. Alfred hadn’t been much better, and Superman – call me Clark, really, now – was on some sort of far away intergalactic mission.

Jason could have spent his weekend talking about ancient battles, mythology, and literature with the coolest of all the Leaguers.

But no. It couldn’t have been Wonder Woman, his luck wasn’t that good. It just had to be Reechurd. 

So, Jason had used the opportunity not-so-thoughtfully presented to him to do something he’d wanted to do ever since he’d been taken in: Make sure some of his friends in Park Row were okay and spend some time with them. He’d gone _accompanied_ and everything, because Bruce was a chump like that, and at first, everything had been fine. 

But then things had gone downhill, to say the least. Partially because he hadn’t been alone. And some of his friends didn’t feel much like his friends anymore.

It felt unfair. It wasn’t even like Barbara liked him all that much, really. She’d made it clear she thought it was distasteful not to be _Richard_ and still exist in Bruce’s general vicinity. 

He’d gone back to the library with her. He’d stayed in the library with her. Then she’d dropped him by the front gate and had driven off to some appointment or the other. 

Except it had been a couple of years since Jason had to be used to keys, and he’d, you know. Might have forgotten them a little bit. 

In his defense, he’d never needed keys to get into the Manor before. Keys were outdated. Out of fashion. Annoyingly useless. 

(His own set of keys were the damn best thing Bruce had ever given him, right up there with the adoption papers, and he hadn’t parted from them for months afterwards, even if he’d never had to actually _use_ them. 

But he had to have forgotten them; because if he hadn’t, that meant he’d _lost_ them or that they’d been _stolen_ and that was so much worse. His throat clenched painfully at the thought.) 

So, yes, keys were entirely stupid and should be banned from society as a whole until he found his again.

His phone chimed with a text. 

He checked the time and rolled his eyes. Bruce had insisted on having an irregular but very, very frequent check-in schedule drafted, complete with code for emergencies and identity verifying messages, that Jason was supposed to use at least until Richard was with him. He’d missed the 19.17 one. 

It was now 19.18.

He typed back the agreed upon ‘Everything’s fine’ code, adding a small personal touch to the message he really hoped Alfred wouldn’t get to read, and waited for the inevitable call. Sure enough, about an entire one and a half seconds later, Bruce’s picture lit up the screen.

“Yeah?” 

“Where are you?” Was bluntly asked. 

“The Manor.” Jason replied, worrying his lip as he looked up at the outside of the building he was supposed to be in. “Definitely where I’m supposed to be.” 

“Mmh.” Bruce hummed lightly, amused. The blatant affection in his voice warmed something in Jason. “Are you, now?”

“Check.” He challenged back. “Do it. You will then realize how you unjustly accused me of lying and feel great amounts of regret for your cruel, hurtful, actions.” 

Bruce laughed and Jason bit back a grin. He wrapped an arm around his stomach to try to trap some of the warmth the freezing wind was trying to steal away from him.

“Your check-in text was late.” Bruce gently chided. He did that a lot, make reproaches bearable.

“Not even by a minute.” He protested.

“By an entire minute.”

“Oh no, an entire minute.” Jason said. “A whole, full, sixty seconds of me without supervision. Who knows what I might get up to?”

“Dreadful trouble.” Bruce agreed solemnly. “Gotham might not be left standing by the end of it.”

“I resent that.”

“Do you, now?” 

“_Yes_.” Jason stressed. “You need to have more faith in my abilities. I’m hurt. All torn up. Wounded. _Crushed_.”

“Well, we can’t have that. I’ll ask Leslie to prescribe you some strict bed-rest, then. A few weeks might do the trick, I think.” 

“I-” He looked up the length of the building again. This conversation was his chance to tell him what had happened. But he was training to be Robin, what good was he if he wasn’t able to handle this? And Bruce had said that the trip he was on was very important. Multiple times even. What if he was pissed at him? Disappointed? Worse. What if he had to cancel because Jason had screwed up? No, he’d be fine. “Sorry. I can’t hear you over the sound of the Manor being on fire.” 

“I’m sure Alfred will be very disappointed to learn that you remember so little of his cooking lessons.” His voice softened into something far more genuine and a little more stern. “All joking aside, Jay-lad. Be more attentive next time. The check-ins are important.” 

“Sorry.” Jason said in a small voice. He was having a very long day and the caring in the voice Bruce was using was almost overwhelming to his frayed temper, now. He was also maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty. “I’ll be more careful.” 

“That’s all I ask. At least until Dick’s with you. That’s just two more times.” 

“Right.” He agreed as cheerfully as he could. Whether the act would fool Bruce or not, however, remained to be seen, as he sounded like a mix between the day he’d discovered maths, and that time he’d found a dead spider floating around in his favorite cereals.

Two more check-ins and then the weekend from hell would continue. Or begin, depending on how you looked at it. Richard really hated his guts. He didn’t like Bruce much either at the moment. Two days with somebody that hated your guts was a long time during which plenty of things could happen.

“Tell Alfred I miss him?”

“Of course.”

“And, Bruce?” 

“Yeah, kiddo?”

He hesitated, voice wavering.

“Nothing. Just come back quick, okay?” 

“Monday.” Bruce promised him. He sounded certain. “We’ll take the night off. I’ll cook us dinner, allow Al to rest some.”

“Then the Manor will really be on fire.” Snorted Jason a little wetly. He scrubbed under his eyes with the heel of his palm quickly because no one out here needed to see that and he was much too old to be crying anyway. 

“I’ll order dinner.” Bruce amended. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course I am.” For now. After midnight might be another thing entirely. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Silly of me to believe otherwise.” 

“Really is.” He agreed. He threw a stick at the old wall, then, when nothing happened, pushed lightly against it to test whether it was electrified or not, while he still had Bruce on the phone to call 911 for him. He knew no security measure of his would be deadly, but you never knew what could happen either. He didn’t get shocked and let out a little breath of relief. 

There were a few unintelligible words from the other end of things. 

“Right, give me a minute.” Bruce said to someone else, muffled. “I’ve got to go.” He told Jason. “Take care, Jay, okay? I’ll call you again later. Tomorrow at the latest.”

“You too, B.” Jason replied and hung up quickly before his adoptive father could deduce much more about his situation based off his tone. Jason was perfectly calm. He’d never had an emotion in his life. Never even seen one. 

A prickling of unease shot up his spine. 

It was the familiar sensation of being watched, so he looked around. Jason listened to his gut, usually. His gut had kept him alive for a long time. 

He didn’t see anything, but the feeling didn’t go away either, so he stayed on guard. 

Being watched meant he couldn’t use the Cave’s entrance, though. He looked up at the Manor, thoughtfully. Under the gloomy moonlight, it looked like it might be haunted, maybe. Almost like it was looming, like its owner did all the time. 

But it was Jason’s home now too, really not that scary, and it was warmer inside than out here, haunted or not.

Something moved. A flash of green, lighter than the pine needles, out of the corner of his eyes. 

He spun around.

Nothing. A few rustling trees, and the moving shadows they cast on the snow-covered ground between him and the wall separating them from the Drake property.

The feeling of unease grew. 

He scaled up the side of the Manor all the way to the roof and its dormer windows. He tried to jimmy one open, but it was firmly stuck, what looked like years and years worth of grime keeping it in place. He tried for a good minute until he was pulling and pushing as hard as he could.

He didn’t want to be stuck up there until Richard showed up. 

And no way was he willing to climb back down.

“Shit.” He winced, giving it one last pull. “Open, damn it!”

‘_Recognized, B13._’ Replied the window as it unlatched with an audible click.

Jason yelped, yanking his hand back, before grinning. 

Living with the Batman was the _coolest_, sometimes. 

He scrambled through the window. The fall was short and he rolled with his landing on the floor of the attic, springing back up with dust-bunnies all over his hair.

He dragged an old chair under the opening, then climbed onto it and pulled until the window closed. It made another click-like sound, so he tested it to make sure it was locked. 

It was.

An hour, some cartwheels, three batarangs, and the contents of his desk ending up all over the floor later, his keys were found in the pocket of a sweater he’d planned on wearing today, before he’d had to say goodbye to Alfie and Bruce. He clung to them so tightly pain flared, sharp, in the palm of his hand. 

Jason’d never even seen a feeling before in his life – real men never cried – but if he ever stumbled onto one, one day-

It might as well be relief.

__________

Midnight came and went with absolutely no sign of Richard.

Jason wasn’t sure whether to be pleased at that or not. He spent a good three, bored, minutes debating the point, then decided he was. 

When the clock struck one, he started wondering whether or not to text Bruce about it. 

On the one hand, Bruce coming back early and Richard potentially ending in trouble. 

On the other, he was having a shi– awful day. He’d already worried for nothing over the keys. Maybe he was just late. Maybe he’d ditched them. Freedom for the weekend. No openings for the prick to hurt him or find a way to sabotage Jason’s current living situation.

Back onto the first hand, Bruce only ever talked about Ree-churd with something angry in his voice, until he forgot to keep up the facade and went all soft tone and warm words. Similarly, for all that they only ever yelled at and fought with each other, Richard had never broken a promise before. 

Jason bit the inside of his cheek. 

Worry started to pool in the pit of his stomach. 

Maybe something had happened to Dick. 

He unfurled from the corner he’d tucked himself in, putting his book down on the bag next to him to retrieve his phone. He shot Bruce a quick ‘Richard’s a no-show. Manor still not on fire.’ and went back to reading; the dim glow coming from his bedside lamp the only source of light in the room.

Comfortably snuggled in his warm sweater and scarf, he dozed a little. When he startled awake, fifteen minutes had passed and the doorbell was ringing. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

The last ring seemed to echo for a few more seconds, painfully loud against the silence of the empty Manor. 

Jason’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. 

‘No, thank you.’ He thought to the potential murderer/ghost/child-eating demon waiting for him just outside the front door. He dragged his get-away bag closer to him and palmed a batarang, just in case. He was way less pleased with Bruce’s radio silence than he’d been with Dick’s.

What was the correct procedure for child-eating demons, anyway? Aside from calling John Constantine and hoping for the best? 

They used holy water with exorcisms for demons, and salt and fire for ghosts in Supernatural, he was pretty sure. Jason looked up an exorcism ritual on his phone. It always paid to be prepared. 

The doorbell had stopped ringing, but loud, frantic, knocking started up instead. 

If this was Dick’s idea of a joke, Jason was using a stake – exactly as detailed in the article – on him. He got up, grumbling. Keys and batarang firmly in hand, backpack shouldered, he peered into the pitch-black, empty corridors, then walked out, taking the cold stairs two at a time. 

_Knock, knock, _sang the darkness between him and the front door. _Knock, knock, knock,_ it echoed. 

_Knock, Knock, Knock, knockknockknockknockknockknock-_

To the attic. They lived isolated away from the city and it was one in the morning. He wasn’t going to hand himself on a silver platter like a moron. Dick knew how to get into the house. Anyone else could fuck right off. While the Cave had been declared off-limits, the attic had easily accessible exits, that were still locked. Worst came to worst, Jason had a pilfered grappling gun in the bag. Among plenty of other things.

The more he climbed, the less he could hear the person(?) knocking, until finally, he couldn’t hear anything at all. 

The silence was _not_ the welcome relief it should have been. 

It wasn’t that Jason was too far away to hear the knocks. It was that they had stopped altogether, and now he couldn't be sure where the person was and what they were doing. 

He ran the rest of the way.

Jason burst through the attic’s door, determined to at least catch a glimpse of whoever that had been. Mostly to see if they were still there. Determine whether they’d managed to get into the Manor or not. Maybe escape to live as a hermit in the woods until Bruce came back from his trip if they had. He jumped on the old chair, ordered the window to open. 

He crawled half-way through it, and standing there – _on the roof_ – drowning in the ugliest, brightest, Green Lantern sweater he’d ever seen was an underfed scrap of an eight years old. He was red-faced, panting, covered in snow, and had a wild look in his eyes, like he’d ran all the way from the docks to the Manor without even bothering to breathe on the way. 

“I need to talk to Batman.” Came rushing out of the kid’s mouth as he clung to a camera the size of his head. His knuckles were torn open. 

“Try murdering people, like everybody else.” Jason said and went to close the window in his face, acting on panicked instinct. 

“Wait!” Wailed the kid. He tried to stop him by throwing himself bodily through the opening. He botched his landing, so Jason got to deal with all of twenty pounds of bony child stabbing him in the stomach with his knees. “I need to talk to Mr Wayne. Please. _Please_. Nightwing’s hurt.” 

That was when he noticed that his sneakers’ original color was not, in fact, the brownish-red he’d first assumed they were. 

No, the dried flakes and the bloody snow that’d fell down with him indicated to that being something of a recent development.


	2. Home Alone: Wayne Manor edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got amazing comments on the last chapters and was like O_O . They made me so happy, you have no idea
> 
> So thank you. Thank you so much, you guys!   
I pretty much suck I replying, and for that I apologize. I'm trying to work on the anxiety - posting off anon, what a nice dream - but it's a WIP. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, the next chapter. Thanks for sticking with me!

“Batman’s… gone? But-”

You could have told the kid that Wonder Woman had just started murdering other heroes in cold blood, and he’d have looked less like the world was ending.

“-he can’t _not_ be here. He needs to be here-”

Oh crap, was he having a panic attack? His face was all scrunched up and still red. The teariest blue eyes he’d ever seen were flitting between him and the open window in a panic.

“-He’s not supposed to _leave_.”

“I dunno who or where the Batman is.” Jason crossed his arms. “But Bruce’s not here.”

"Stop lying!*" The now angriest eyes he’d ever seen were drilling holes into his skull. “Nightwing’s hurt!”

Ah, yes. That.

Jason squashed the tiniest little annoying bit of worry that tried to rear its ugly head. Dick was fine. He was the Gold-standard of all things Robin, the one Jason could never get close to, no matter how hard he trained. No way had anyone managed to off him.

He glared. “What’s to say that you ain’t the one that hurt him, huh?”

The kid had no response to that beyond doing an accurate imitation of a distressed goldfish. Jason clutched the Batarang in his closed fist until it hurt. Dick was fine.

“You’re covered in blood.” He said accusingly. “Maybe you killed him and got a taste for it. Coming back for more, are you?”

This could be a trap. One Jason wasn’t going to fall into.

Dick was fine.

In some kind of deadly effective finishing move, the weapon of massive destruction kind, the kid started to cry.

Not even big, noisy, annoying, sobs. No. It was the fat silent tears rolling down from haunted eyes kind, and now he got why adults could never stand kids crying when it was their faults. It made him feel like shit.

“I c- I can’t save him al-l-one.” Came spilling out of the tiny-eight-years-old-he’d-made-cry’s mouth. He was babbling. “I can’t- He can’t d-die, but I can’t he-elp him.”

‘If that’s all his blood, maybe he’s already dead’, Jason didn’t say. No, instead, he said-

" ’Kay. Show me where."

-like some kind of trusting, death-wishing, idiot. That seemed to be the right thing to say, however, ’cause the kid hiccupped two more times and forced out:

“But Batman’s-”

“-Not here. I wasn’t lying.”

He wiped under his nose with his too big sleeve, which was useless seeing as he was still leaking water everywhere, from the top of his drenched dark hair – the snow had melted by now – to his creepy sad eyes. When he looked up, he had a steely expression on his face, a sort of cold will, despite the tears. He nodded, sniffling.

“You’ll help me?”

“Yeah. ’Course I will.”

Jason was training to be _Robin_.

Trap or not, Robin did everything he could to help people.

\----------

_‘B, answer your phone.’_

_‘Bruce, please.’_

\----------

The kid dragged him back out, down the side of the Manor, and towards the Drake wall.

He broke into a run as soon as his feet touched the snow. It didn’t last long, just enough to bring him to Dick’s side.

He was slumped against the wall in a puddle of congealing blood. His breathing was shallow, tiny puffs of vapor that rose from his blue-tinged lips to above his head. A dried trail of red ran from his black hair to the collar of his shirt.

Jason’d seen better-looking corpses.

He skid to a stop on his knees next to him, not quite sure where to touch yet. The kid dropped next to him and used his tiny arms to press on a wound on Dick’s leg. It wasn’t much use, seeing as it wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it didn’t cause it to reopen again either, so Jason left it at that.

“C’mon, Dickhead.” He muttered. “I don’t like you. Don’t make me slap you, I’d enjoy it. And then where would you be, huh?”

Dick didn’t wake up, but he frowned a little. His head lolled to the side, away from Jason. He was shivering, too, so that was good, right?

“Be petty,” Jason encouraged, while lightly tapping him on the cheek. “You hate ma guts. Just be petty ’n wake up now, so I don’t get ta punch ya in the face.”

As motivating as he found that speech to be, it didn’t seem to work on the intended recipient.

The kid was starting to tremble, his hands pressing hard on Dick’s leg. His eyes were wide, staring intently at them.

“_Dick_.” He stressed. “Yer scaring-” He tapped harder. Looked towards the kid questioningly. That didn’t prompt an immediate reaction so he elbowed him. The kid jerked his head up.

“Timothy.”

“There. Yer gunna traumatize Tim ’n Bruce. I’ll neva hear tha end of it’f ya do that to Bruce.”

Another twitch, but nothing more.

He drew his arm back and slapped him as hard as he could. Dick flinched. Bleary blue eyes opened half-way. They went from unpleasant to relieved almost immediately.

“They didn’t get you.” Dick mumbled. “That’s good.”

He said that like he was the one that had any right to be relieved, the _jerk_.

“Yeah, well, they got _you_ pretty good.”

“Mean.” His eyelids were dropping again.

“Eyes up here.” Snapped Jason, definitely not panicking. “I ain’t that kind of girl.” He tried to channel his inner Bruce. “Sit-rep.”

“I… shot?”

“No kidding. Injuries?”

Dick scrunched up his face.

“Leg. Hit ’m head.”

“That’s it?”

“…think so.”

“Can you stand?”

“I can -nrgh- try.”

Tim made a noise. Jason jumped, having forgotten he was even there. The noise brought Dick’s full focus onto him.

“I know you.” He stated, squinting at the kid. He was still mumbling, slurring his words, but getting more coherent by the second. “We’ve met before.”

Tim squeaked. Jason almost expected to see vapor rise up from his ears given how red they’d turned. Instead, he saw frost in the kid’s hair and eyebrows. In the dark it was kinda hard to be sure, but his face looked almost the same color as Dick’s.

Bleeding-out, freezing, Dick.

_Stupid_!

He’d been covered in melted snow and gross tears when they’d ran back out.

Half of the competent members of this team suffering from hypothermia was the last thing they needed at the moment. Jason untangled the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around Tim’s. That prompted the kid to stare at him like he’d started break-dancing in Dick’s blood or something.

He tried to ignore that. There wasn’t much more he could do until they were back inside if he didn’t want to suffer from hypothermia himself.

“C’mon, Dickie. Up you get.”

“’m older than you.”

It took all three of them, but they managed.

\----------

The trail back to the Manor was painful for everyone involved. Despite Dick being awake, and trying his best to help, he was still barely coordinated and limping pretty badly.

By the time they’d reached the front door, the three of them were red-faced and panting. Jason kept Dick propped up against the wall, while Tim fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the door. Jason deactivated the security system vocally.

Then, they were walking again. Jason debated for half a second whether or not to show Tim the Cave. All the good medical equipment was down there. Tim already knew, that was obvious, and Bruce likely preferred that his secret be compromised and Dick still alive, than the opposite.

Or maybe he’d hate Jason for that, but at least the former Robin would be alright. The sheer awe on Tim’s face when they reached the passage down helped soothe his nerves a little. Jason didn’t trust him, per se, but was getting surer by the second that Tim wouldn’t sell their secret to the mob as soon as this all was over.

They helped Dick sit on one of the cots. He sank down with a low groan, eyes fluttering shut.

“We need to warm him up.” Said Jason, thinking aloud, trying to remember his first aid training. “And to get a blood transfusion going.”

" ’m fine." Argued Dick, weakly, batting at their hands. “I can do it.”

All of Alfred’s rants about Bruce’s stubbornness made a lot more sense to him all of a sudden.

“You are not fuc- effing fine.” Snapped Jason, livid. “You are so far from fine I- Tim thought you were dead; which you would be if he hadn’t known to get me.”

Dick looked like someone had struck him over the head a second time. Which should not have been possible, but here they were, with Jason admitting he cared (despite how bad of an idea that always was) and Dick looking dumb.

Tim inhaled sharply. Jason turned towards him, already regretting his words.

“I don’t really think he’s in too bad of a shape, don’t worry. It’s definitely going to be okay, but I need you to help me keep him from being an idiot. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, i can do that.” The determination was back. It was scary how quickly the kid could shelve his feelings at the drop of a hat.

“Great. That’s good, kid.”

They got working, Jason peppering Dick with questions to try to keep him alert, and to keep Tim calm.

Not that he needed it, the little weirdo having apparently switched straight into an hyper-focused state as soon as he had something to do. Scary good, too. Not just at what he was supposed to do, but also at what Jason wished he didn’t do, like pulling details out of Dick. Details like who had attacked him - would-be kidnappers, apparently. Jason was glad they’d managed to get back safely inside the Manor - and how long he’d been Nightwing, or how he thought Bludhaven compared to Gotham in terms of crime families; and could Dick rate them from worst to most efficient, please, because Tim had been doing research and insider intel was so hard to get, you see, and-

Who the heck was that kid?

Clarity, or something feeling a lot like a cold wave of dread, struck Jason.

“Wait. Did you lock the front door?” he asked.

Tim shook his head mutely, paling. Dick stopped babbling his way through something about a museum, Penguin and the T-Rex.

“Left trail.” he rasped out. He tried to get up, so they pushed him back down. “Wound urg r’op’ned.”

They shared another panicked look.

“Oooh, Alfie is going to kill me.” Jason breathed. He glared at Tim. “Keep him awake. Slap him if you need to.”

Then he took another bag of blood and ran back up to the Cave’s entrance, completely ignoring Dick’s weak protests.

\----------

Having to sneak around bad guys to smear little splashes of water, dirt (from the convenient supply the potted plants provided), and blood all over the Manor’s first floor was…

Well, loads of fun.

Creepy, granted. And Jason wasn’t sure they’d still want him around after tonight, which dampened the experience somewhat. He made sure to spare what couldn’t be easily washed, like carpets and stuff. He also stayed far away from the library. Only a heathen would put books at risk like that.

He made sure to fake a few trails going up the stairs, leading them as far from the Cave as he could.

(Jason took special care to ruin what was left of Dick’s atrocious pants, scrunching them up on the floor then emptying what was left in the bag on them. It spared the hardwood, doing Alfie a solid, and got rid of the monstrosities, doing everyone a solid.)

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.

The sound, familiar as it was, felt strangely out of place in Wayne Manor. Jason fled, heart high in his throat.

He scrambled into the dumbwaiter and let himself slide down to the kitchen. Once at the right level, he stood as still and silent as possible, holding his breath. Listening intently for any of the bad guys.

The silence was deafening.

Jason snuck his head out. Looked left. Looked right.

Nothing.

He crept out of his hiding spot, and dove under one of the kitchen’s tables.

“Fuck!” A deep voice exclaimed. “I thought you said this would be an easy job.”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Spit another voice. They were coming closer, the sounds getting louder.

“Wayne is out of the country, you said. Grab the kids, get out, you said. Well I don’t see any fucking kid anywhere, do you?”

Feet appeared in Jason’s line of sight. He scrambled backwards, keeping himself hidden as best he could until the two guys had walked to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Would you keep your voice down?!”

Jason tried to calculate the distance between his hiding spot and the door. If he booked it, maybe-

One of the two guys walked back towards his side of the kitchen.

“Check all the rooms in this hallway.” He said, walking past Jason, to the door. “And for the love of god, keep your voice down. You’re gonna alert the kid.”

Then he was gone.

“Keep your voice down, keep your voice down.” The other guy grumbled, after a minute of rummaging through Alfie’s cupboards. “He’s ten. What’s the worst he can do?”

“Oh, em gee, I wonder.” Jason said, and broke one of their best bottles of cooking oil over the guy’s head.

He made an awful loud thump sort of noise when he collided with the floor.

Jason sprinted to the door before he could get back up or do much more than spit curses at him. Or before the other guy came back to check what the noise had been.

No one in the hallway.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Other than that small mishap, the journey back to the Cave turned out to be uneventful He made sure to close the passageway correctly, and to leave no trace of their presence this time.

\----------

All things considered, Tim and Dick both looked downright relieved to see him again. Dick flopping - Jason was not sniggering at his own choice of words. He. Was. Not. He was happy at having escaped the goons, was all. - back down onto the cot as soon as he caught sight of Jason, stopping his half-hearted attempts to get up.

" ’re you h’rt?" He asked urgently.

And now Jason felt real bad that he had entertained the thought of not following Tim, because Dick looked honest-to-god worried about him.

Nice dream, while it lasted.

“I can handle a couple’ idiots just fine.” He snapped back.

“Good.” Dick mumbled, eyes closing. “Good.”

“Shouldn’t we-” The kid, Tim, started to ask, starting to move towards Dick. He was shivering violently, nose and eyes red. That was another issue, one more in a long list of things Jason couldn’t deal with at the moment. Especially not with the way the kid looked at Dick, all fear and desperate admiration.

“’S fine.” Said Jason. “I’m taking care of it. Go change. Warm up.”

“No.” And wasn’t the little derp stubborn? “I’m fine. I can help.”

“You look like a strong sneeze away from crying.” Jason argued, as he prepared the suturing kit.

Dick’s eyes flew back open, startling them both.

“Blood.” He said. “The blood. You’re hurt.”

“Not mine, Dick.” He sighed. Then, tentatively, he pushed Dick’s hair away from his forehead, like he used to do with his mom when she got feverish.

This was going to hurt a whole lot when it all went back to normal.

“I’m not a kid, I’m grown.” Tim said. “Men don’t cry.”

“Well, that’s stupid.” He said, because it was. Now that he thought about it more, anyway. Tim had cried earlier and it had not made him any less competent or useful. The opposite even. Someone ought to weaponize Tim’s crying face, Jason was pretty sure.

Tim’s shoulders hunched a path up to his ears.

“Anyway, you have to change.” Jason argued. “Or your legs are going to rot and fall off.”

“What.” Whispered Tim, white as a ghost.

“Change.” He ordered, pointing at the lockers near the training mats. That were oh-so-conveniently located as far away from the medical cots as he could get without sending him alone among the trophies somewhere. “And take a shower. Coldish, then, way later, not too hot, then hot. You can have some of my clothes. But only for today.”

“But-”

“Change. I’m Robin. I know these things.”

Tim nodded and fled.

Now, to the stitching and cleaning of Dick-o-wing.

\----------

Jason walked back to the cots, trying to balance two mugs full of steaming tea - Alfred kept a steady supply in the Cave for the long nights - and a stuffed elephant he’d found in Dick’s locker without spilling anything or burning himself.

Dick was out cold, steadily getting warmer by the minute, and Tim had started staring at him as soon as he’d come back from his shower, still clutching Jason’s bloodied scarf.

And had not stopped since.

He’d thought Tim’s pallor had been due to his hypothermia. Shock, maybe.

As it was turning out to be, Tim had never seen a single sun ray in his entire life. Even after he’d warmed up and changed, Tim was still paler than a polar bear’s pasty ass.

Jason was training to be Robin. He knew how to handle a lot of things, from violent fights, to caring for someone else. From injuries, to survival.

Jason had no idea what to do with this kid with the too big eyes and the scrawny frame.

It couldn’t be that different from taking care of adults. He hoped.

“Drink.” Said Jason, brusquely. He pushed one of the steaming mugs in Tim’s hands. Tim looked dazedly down as if he’d never seen a hot drink before in his life either, so Jason also pushed the stuffed elephant on him. That was supposed to help distraught kids, right?

Or was that only toddlers?

Same difference. Tim weighted all of twenty pounds soaking wet. Now, Jason wasn’t the tallest guy around, not eating enough tended to do that to you; but next to his brown skin, foot in height, and Robin training, Tim looked to be downright on death’s door.

Jason side-eyed him. The kid was maybe the size of a big salmon.

Was that how Bruce felt all the time? Was that what people saw when he stood next to him?

Freaky, ’s what it was.

Tim was also not reacting. Jason scoured his brain for a second. What else were they supposed to do to help people that were in shock?

He took the mug back, and bodily hauled Tim onto the second medical cot. Then, he gave him the plushie, wrapping one of Tim’s arms around it since he wasn’t going to do it himself, and making him hold the mug with the other. From there, he darted to one of the lockers full of supplies they kept and took a gigantic comforter. He threw it around Tim’s shoulders, crossed it over his torso and tucked it under his legs to keep it in place.

Jason looked critically at the blanket lump of a child he’d just created, a few black strands barely peeking over the top. He pulled one part of it down a little so that fresh air would get direct access to Tim’s face.

“Whaa-” wheezed the Lump.

Good enough for now.

Stealing a glance at the other cot to make sure Dick hadn’t gone and died in the meantime, he dialed a number he knew by heart. Even though he’d been kinda avoiding his phone ever since he’d found Dick. He was out of things to do in the meanwhile, though, and he’d heard it buzz a few times, already.

Bruce picked up before the first ring had even halfway sounded.

“Are you alright?”

“Yup, totally fine.” Jason said, you know, like a liar. “I was sleeping. In my bed. Where all the sleeping is supposed to happen.”

“Jason.”

“Yes?”

“What happened.”

“Don’t be mad?”

“I won’t be if you tell me the truth.” Bruce said, also like a liar.

“Okay. So. Dick’s bleedingbecausewethinkhemighthavebeenshotbythepeoplethatareintheManorrightnowandTimisnotrespondingtoanythinganymoreandalsoheknowswhoyouare.”

He understood all of it on the first try. Whether it was because he was Batman and thus fluent in a variety of languages, including gibberish, or because he was good friends with the Flash was anyone’s guess.

“What’s Dick’s condition?” Bruce asked, mad. “Who’s Tim?”

“The neighbor.”

A pause.

“Timothy Drake is eight years old.”

“And I’m eleven. We all make do with what we’ve got.” Jason snapped, also mad.

“Jay. Jay-lad. It’s alright.” Bruce was now very calm. Another lie, Jason could tell. “Take a deep breath for me.”

He did. Then he took another, because Bruce was only technically the Boss of him, and Jason didn’t have to obey all of his orders to the letter.

“That’s good.” Bruce praised. “Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’d really rather not.” He said, maybe still a tad closer to anxious than he’d wanted to sound.

Bruce grunted. Jason tensed right back up.

“Are you safe?”

“-ish?”

“Can you get to the basement?”

“Oh, good. You can’t be mad about that.” Said Jason. " ’Cause we’re already there."

“That was the right call on your part. What’s Dick’s condition?”

Jason leaned forward to jab at his cheek with two fingers. Dick groaned and twitched away from the touch. His eyes opened a little before closing again at the sight of Jason. Still not dead.

“Uh, sleeping. He was shot in the leg, but I fixed that. Gave him a bag of blood, too. He’s got a nasty knock on the head, but we’ve been waking him up.” Not that it helped any on the medical side of things; but Dick being awake, himself, warm was reassuring. “Pupils are okay. He’s -er…mostly coherent?”

“Mostly.”

“In pain. Slurring like a drunk. But he knows what’s going on. Can you get back any sooner than Monday?”

“I’m on my way to the nearest Zeta. ETA twenty-seven minutes.”

“Thank fuck.” Jason breathed. “Sorry.” He added.

Bruce didn’t reprimand him for his language.

“I spilled blood all over the Manor. And broke a bottle.” He said again, defiantly, to get it off his chest. Better to know what was going to happen to him now and prepare, than later and be caught unaware. He knew now that Bruce wasn’t like that, but there were other consequences to his actions that could end up almost as bad as what Willis would have done.

Love was very much conditional, always. He jumped up on Dick’s bed and sat, drawing his knees up, facing the Lump.

“Spilled?”

“From a bag. To cover our tracks. On purpose.”

No answer.

“Alfred is going to hate me for that, isn’t he?” He asked quietly, when he couldn’t take the wait anymore. You already do.

“He’s not.” Bruce’s voice was firm, certain. “He’s going to make you help clean it up.” I don’t. We don’t.

Jason could have cried.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Really.” He said, skeptical.

“Really.”

That sounded way too good to be true. But he’d been trying this trust thing with Bruce, and it had paid off pretty well in the months since he’d tried to steal the Batmobile’s tires.

Heat pressed against his side. He bit back a yelp, turning to see Tim blinking owlishly up at him. The kid was downright _sneaky_ when he wanted to be.

“Is that Batman?” He whispered.

“Yeah.” Jason nodded, covering the bottom end of his phone with his hand. He cleared his throat, wishing he didn’t still have a tight ball stuck in there.

“But you said he was gone.”

“Well, yeah? I called him.”

That didn’t seem to compute for Tim. Jason frowned.

“Jason?” Bruce asked with something urgent in his growl.

“I’m putting you on speaker. Be nice.” He ordered. “Tim’s cool.”

That didn’t seem to compute either.

“Timothy?”

Tim pressed closer, until he was just about melting through Jason’s side. “Yes, sir.” He squeaked.

‘Sir’ mouthed Jason, wrinkling his nose.

He listened half-heartedly to Tim and Bruce’s conversation, trying to keep an eye on Dick instead.

Jay-lad, Bruce had called him. The right call, he’d said.

It was weak, and stupid, of him but Jason really wanted his dad at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of Baby!Jason and Tiny!Tim. 
> 
> I have tons of dialog of baby!Jason sassing Bruce in my WIP, you have no idea.


	3. Bruce. Why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I yeet the canon. Yeet it far away  
Is this purely a lot of self-indulgent schmoop? Yes  
Does this series have a plot beyond them being a family and interacting? No  
Do I regret it? Also no  
Warning, this is disgustingly fluffy  
Without further ado, Presenting Bruce-this-toddler-insulted-me-so-now-Im-adopting-him-Wayne.

The silence grew awkward, as they waited for B to make his way back.

Maybe that was just Jason. Tim seemed perfectly content with just staring down at Dick with a worried frown.

No, Jason knew for certain that it was also Bruce, as he made no noise at all, unless Jason stopped talking for more than two minutes, upon which Bruce shat an egg and barked: “Report.” over the phone in that low growly tone of his. Every time.

“So.” Jason started, a little lost. “How come you managed to find him.” He asked, with a nod towards Dick.

“Oh. Uhm.” Tim floundered for a moment, like he hadn’t been expecting that question. Or to be talked to at all, really. “I was taking out the trash.”

Jason frowned. “By yourself? At night, with a camera?”

Tim nodded quickly. “Uh-Uh. I like photography, and I can get pictures of raccoons or owls, that way.” He brightened, getting more enthused, looking his actual age for the first time that evening. He talked like a mini-adult, the kind that looked down their crooked nose on Jason at Bruce’s snobby parties. Only, without the looking down part. “Sometimes I try long exposure-shots, for landscapes or stars, but mostly it’s all just wildlife. Bats, fireflies when I go out in summer, birds, moths, the weird cat or two. I-” He stopped, hesitated, suddenly all shy again. “I could show you? If you’d like?”

His face fell when Jason didn’t immediately answer. “Or not. You don’t have to say yes. I realize it’s weird.”

“No, I want to see them.” Jason assured him quickly, before Tim could look anymore down. It worked. The kid brightened again. “Don’t your parents get mad? Gotham gets dangerous.”

Bruce grunted in assent.

What Jason wanted to know was what kind of things Tim was running from. ‘Taking out the trash.’ Fell down some stairs. Ran into a door. Don’t mind the sleeves, I’m just a little cold, is all. Just out to buy milk, at three in the morning, yes sir, absolutely, my mom’s _eleven_ months pregnant and she’s getting cravings, but she can’t get out of bed, medical complications you see, yes sir, I’ll be real careful, promise, won’t do it again, that’s for sure.

Normal kids were taught to be scared of the dark outside the house. Normal kids didn’t move so silently _Robin_ couldn’t hear them coming.

Most kids at Jason’s school stomped around like elephants, feet trampling on the ground without a care in the world.

Maybe he really did enjoy taking pictures, who knew, but that wasn’t the worrying bit here.

(It had taken a long time, and too much exposure to Bruce’s big, dumb, sad face for Jason to realize that.)

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Tim assured him, relieved. Cheerful, almost. It was a weird contrast to his previous mood. “They don’t care as long as I’m not going anywhere too dangerous. Just out on the grounds is fine.”

“Too dangerous?” Repeated Jason, clenching his fists.

_It’s fine, fine, fine, okay, fine, didn’t really ask, tired, didn’t really talk, won’t notice, busy, won’t care._ The litany of familiar excuses rang all sorts of alarm bells.

“Yeah.” Tim nodded, his grasp on the blanket was slipping slightly, as was his hold on Dick’s stuffed elephant, so Jason re-arranged them both correctly. Tim could look at him with confused puppy dog eyes all he wanted, Jason wasn’t risking another bout of shock.

“But your garden at two in the morning, alone, is fine?” Bruce, Batman, growled.

“It’s not downtown.” Tim argued, stiffening. “It’s not that dangerous.”

Jason frowned.

“Downtown’s not that bad if you know what yo-”

“Jason.” Bruce growled again.

Whoops.

“What.” He said, defensive, and sounding angry as a result. “I’m just saying, the real bad place to be is the Amusement Mile. Park Row’s not that bad in comparison.”

“Hn.” Grunted Bruce, which, knowing him, probably just meant ‘Not the point, Jay-lad.’, or ‘do not enable the insane toddler, Robin.’, but felt a whole lot like ‘you fucking idiot’ to Jason at the moment. “Jay.” Bruce added, in a nicer voice, when the silence stretched too long, grew too thin.

Trust, he reminded himself, breathing deeply. Bruce wouldn’t be making him Robin if he thought Jason was an idiot. Robin was about as far from stupid as you could get.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He said. “Don’t shit your pants. I’m fine, Dick’s fine, we’re all fine. Totally fine on this warm, beautiful evening that _I could have fucking spent talking to Wonder Woman._”

Whoops. Part two, the sequel.

Sometimes, Jason hated that his mouth had a mind of its own.

“_Jason._”

“_Bruce_.” He bit out. He wanted to apologize, but the worst he felt about what he’d just said, the more anger and panic flooded him, and he found out that he just couldn’t. Another screw-up in a long list of screwing-ups, disrespecting an adult in front of a stranger was a big nope, and Jason had just done that on top of letting the man’s real son get hurt and the best case scenario was getting thrown out on his ass, trust could go fuc-

Jason’s spiraling thoughts were stopped by Tim. Tim that was looking at him with wide, too wide, scared eyes.

He took another few controlled, breaths. Trust. Bruce would never do that. No, Bruce did way worse. The absolute worst thing he could have, under the circumstance, the thing Jason never knew how to deal with.

“You did well tonight, Jason. I’m proud of you.”

He deflated.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Bruce hhmmed again. Jason took the hint. “I’m sorry, for, you know. I didn’t mean it.” He hated how small his voice had become. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. You’re grounded.”

“Grounded.” Jason asked, staring at the phone. That was new. Brand new. When Jason stepped out of line, usually, they _talked about it_. With Alfred. Which was way worse than any punishment he might have dealt, in Jason’s opinion, except maybe when Bruce forced him to do just that, but also withheld the Robin training.

It was pure and utter bullshit, because Bruce was bad, so very bad, at talking, but tried so hard anyway. Jason had tried to tell him, once, that maybe he should consider more common forms of punishments, save himself the pain, but Bruce had gone silent, said “No.” with a dark look on his face, and that had been that.

Talking. It was like the man enjoyed punishing himself for Jason’s mistakes. So yeah, grounding was new.

The Zeta activated. _‘Recognized Batman, 02’_ it said.

“Grounded.” Announced Bruce, appearing in the Cave. “Confined to your room, with only your books for company for two days.”

“Oh no, how terrible.” He replied, trying to infuse his tone with an appropriate amount of sass and crossing his arms. His knees felt weak with relief, Batman’s approaching form getting blurrier with each step he took. It was good not to be in charge anymore. “I’m really, really, sorry I was that rude. Could we make it three days? Just to make sure I’ve learned my lesson?”

Then Bruce was kneeling in front of him, tousling his hair - and did he know what that did to curls, the bastard? - and asking in that too-soft voice of his.

“Are you hurt?”

No grown adult had any right to sound like that.

“No.” Jason mumbled, trying not to lean into the touch. “No, I’m fine. You ought to check on Dick, though. I did a decent job, but, yeah. You ought to check.”

Bruce worsened the rat’s nest that decorated the top of Jason’s head some more, then went to do just that.

Jason tried to smooth it back down, scowling darkly.

\----------

Watching Bruce trying to question Tim was… an experience in itself.

Bruce had checked on Dick, waking him up enough to have a decent conversation about what had happened, and checking Jason’s work.

Once he’d reassured himself that they were all fine, he’d gone to deal with the would-be kidnappers, only to find that they’d fled the premises when they’d found the guy Jason had knocked out cold. Checking the camera’s footage revealed that, apparently, blood-stained mansions at three in the morning with randomly injured team mates were too much to handle for most people. Who knew.

Jason was not snickering.

Really, he wasn’t.

Once Bruce had been certain - and Bruce being certain of something was the most tedious process Jason had ever seen, it took _forever_ \- that the Manor was safe, he’d come back down, and tried to get Tim to reveal how he’d discovered their secret identities.

Jason was supposed to “Get some rest, Jay-lad. You’re exhausted.”, but this. This was gold.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir.” Tim replied, very politely, staring the Batman straight in the eyes.

“You…can’t.”

“No, sir. I can’t.” Still in that too polite tone.

“May I ask why?” Bruce sounded amused. He always was when someone was sassing or openly defying him.

Not that Jason had tried to use that to get his way before or anything. Of course, not. This was all hypothetical. Jason was nothing but polite, always.

“You may, of course. I would like to be updated on Nightwing’s condition. And to keep in touch with Jason.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to blackmail us?”

“No!” The kid sounded horrified. Then, he seemed to catch himself. “I mean, no, sir, I’m not. But I won’t be able to do those things if-”

He stopped talking.

“By not telling me, you ensure I have to keep you close to find out, is that it?”

“Yes.” Tim said, looking pretty relieved that he appeared to get it.

“And if I were to promise you that you don’t need to do that in order to be friends with Jason and Dick?”

“Well, sir.” He answered carefully after thinking for a moment. He was tense all over, spine straight and eyes full of ice. “I would very much like to say that I believe you, but I have been taught that lying is quite the rude thing to do.”

Bruce looked insanely pleased all of a sudden.

“Are you calling me rude, Timothy?”

“I would never dream of doing that, sir.” Tim chirped, still staring down the Batman while keeping a white-knuckled grip on his bloodied and ratty scarf.

“That isn’t a no.”

Jason decided to make his presence known. He dropped down next to Tim. The kid turned towards him and lit up like he was a crate of fireworks on the 4th of July and Jason was Captain America himself.

There was something wrong with that, and it wasn’t just the simile getting out of Jason’s control.

“Jason!”

Jason scowled up at Bruce.

“Trying to replace me already, old man?”

He liked Tim plenty, but he was only half-kidding.

“_What_?! No- That’s not- I’m not- I didn’t mean- I’m not trying to- I’m _sorry_.”

“Chill, Timmers. I’m asking him.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to.” Mused Bruce. “Mind your shadow when trying to sneak around. It can be slightly darker or lighter than the shadows you’re trying to conceal it in.”

Typical.

“Timothy, would you give us a minute?”

They watched as Tim worried his cheek, before nodding and fleeing.

“What’s going on, Jay?” Bruce asked, gently.

“Nothing’s going on.” He answered, glaring at Bruce, then, when that failed, glaring at the bats that were chattering overhead. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’ve been acting different for the past few days.” The cave’s air felt cloying, oppressing , all of a sudden. Then, Bruce was kneeling again, his forehead was lightly touching Jason’s and his palm was at the back of his neck. “Jay. I adopted you. You’re my son. Where is this all coming from?”

Jason went cross-eyed trying to decipher his expression. It was hard to tell when someone was lying when you couldn’t see more than their nose.

“So you’ve said. But Dick’s starting to come back, now, and you won’t ne-”

“Jason Peter Wayne.” Jason shut up. “Your place in Wayne Manor is not conditional. It never will be. If you ever leave, that will be your choice, not mine.”

“I don’t get why.”

“You don’t have to.”

“My choice?” Jason checked.

“Your choice.” Bruce promised. “And yours alone.”

“Okay.” He breathed, after a minute, or maybe two. Bruce squeezed the back of his neck, then leaned back. “Okay.” Then added. “Trust is hard.”

Bruce huffed a laugh. “I know.”

“Getting easier, though.” That got him a half-smile.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. But, B.”

“Hn.”

“We’ve got to do something about Tim. Something’s not right.”

"I plan on looking into it."

"Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to have more Dick & Jason interactions, but i decided to stick that into the sequel instead, because otherwise, the story's lost its rythm. 
> 
> Which is also why this chapter is slightly shorter than the other two. I thought it worked better that way. I hope it stills flows well.
> 
> Anyway, this is far from over.
> 
> Thank you for reading this very self indulgent fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Cdelphiki's wonderful writing (please go pour some more love on every single one of their fics, they're awesome. Absolutely lovely. Cute as heck. Wonderful.) made me want to write more Baby!Jason. So I guess this is inspired by "Precedent" by Cdelphiki? I don't know what the etiquette for that is, though? Contact them? 
> 
> God, I have social anxiety.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
